


Prompts

by slacktension



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 05:56:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 14,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slacktension/pseuds/slacktension
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various prompts I've received for different pairings and scenarios, all compiled together. Ranges from K to M.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Borra: Forgotten

Bolin had convinced himself that the kiss didn’t mean anything. That was what Mako had told him, and Korra no longer looked at his brother with longing eyes from what he could see. His brother had Asami, and Korra had work to occupy her. It wasn’t the best time to delve into his emotions and for the first time, he held them back. There were more important things to worry about.

He knew his brother, anyway. Mako was just worried, that was all. Bolin had been at the receiving end of that kind of care for years, and it was nothing out of the ordinary to watch Mako tear apart the city in search of something he cared about. He even did it for Pabu, once. Bolin had nothing to worry about there. He was sure of it.

But then she had won.

She stumbled out of the fight with Amon with her feet dragging, arms limp by her sides, head down to make sure her heavy boots didn’t cause her to trip. Scars ran up and down her body and he could see blood trailing down her skin, mixing with sweat and turning pink, but she was still marching forward.

She was _brave_ and _strong_ and just, _amazing_ and he _had_ to tell her, had to tell her everything or just show her how much he cared when—

His brother called out her name and her head lifted up, just like when Bolin would say dinner and Pabu would twitch his ears in delight.

She broke into a run and her toothy smile made more blood gush from the cut on her lip, but her eyes were trained on everyone waiting for her, wide and focused. Nothing could break that concentration, and Bolin let out an excited yell like he was her biggest fan, arms slightly spread and waiting for her to crush him into a violent hug.

But she ran past him straight to his brother.


	2. Howrra: Unrequited

The window to her bedroom was still glowing with amber light the fifth time he walked past it. He allowed himself to glance quickly, for less than a second, into the room.

That boy was still in there with her. Still watching.

He had heard Korra talk about him before - passing comments and snippets of conversation, but she usually changed the subject abruptly whenever he came up.  _Mako_ , captain of the Fire Ferrets, but now seemingly just a source of frustration for her. 

By the time Howl made his sixth pass past her window, it was shining inky black, reflecting his face back at him like black ice that slicked down the pavement in the city.

It was his job to protect her, he thought as he stepped into the house. At any cost. He had signed on for the job without knowing what he was getting himself into, but he was now there for more than a paycheck to send back home.

He slid open the door to her bedroom and took the seat the boy from before had previously occupied. Korra wouldn’t usually wear her hair down for any reason, but he had seen it a few times before. He liked it. One stray lock curved down the soft edge of her jaw, and to keep himself from reaching out to trace it or brush it away, he pulled off his helmet and set it on the edge of the bed.

Her hand was at the edge of the mattress, exposed and limp against the soft sheets. There were scars on her knuckles carved into the dry skin there.

He placed his hand over hers and gently squeezed.

“ _Mako?_ ”

He tensed for a moment, waiting to see if she would wake up. When she simply shifted, settled her head deeper into the pillow with a light smile, he allowed himself a resigned sigh.

He pulled his hand away and put his helmet back on, then stood quietly to leave.


	3. Bosami: Stars

“Bolin, what are you doing?”

Asami’s voice always cut through Bolin’s thoughts, especially when she used that no-nonsense tone. The chair he stood on rocked dangerously beneath his feet as he struggled to keep his balance, before finally gripping onto the metal grate above his head to hold still.

He looked down and she was frowning, arms crossed and leg outstretched to tap her foot against the ground.

“Uh, nothing,” he replied.

She narrowed her eyes and stared at the chair. He had found it among the piles of pilfered items the homeless people had collected, the wood nearly eaten all the way through, but it was the perfect height to reach the storm drain that he currently held onto.

“What if somebody drove by and saw your fingers?” she said.

Bolin quickly let go of the grill and let his hands dangle by his sides. She had a point. It was probably idiotic to shove his face up to the grill in order to look up at the street they hid under, but this storm drain was so perfect. It gave him just the right view and everything.

She sighed, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Seriously. What are you doing?”

He glanced back up at the storm drain before deciding to answer.

“Looking at the stars.”

She simply narrowed her eyes and raised one long, thin eyebrow. It was the first time he hadn’t seen her angry or annoyed all night, so he decided to roll with it.

“Yeah, come up here and look with me,” he said, holding out his hand.

She took a step back. “That thing won’t hold the two of us.”

“Alright,” he said, hopping off the chair. He still held out his hand. “Come on, you know you want to.”

She looked away and down the long tunnel they stood in. At the end was the faint light of the vagabonds’ housing, but before it was the gaping, black opening another tunnel. The one Mako and Korra had torn off to, wearing Equalist uniforms.

“You’ll like it,” Bolin said, and her eyes snapped back to look at him, wide and surprised. “Trust me.”

She placed her hand in his, and without any gloves on, he realized how delicate her fingers were. No knobbled knuckles from punching and fighting, skin unmarred. He liked how starkly it contrasted to the Equalist glove that usually covered it.

Standing up on the chair, it wobbled with her added weight, but she brought one hand up to the grate to hold still. She lifted her head, and her mouth popped open at the view.

They were city kids. The light pollution was terrible, and if she was anything like him, she had never seen the stars before. Not this bright, anyway.

Her hand gripped his tighter and he smiled.

“Why are they so bright?” she asked, stretching her neck and nearly pressing her nose up to the grate.

“The bombs, I think,” he said, and her hand squeezed tighter. He squeezed back. “They knocked out a lot of buildings, so…”

She breathed in deeply through her nose, as if cleansing the thought from her mind. The hard expression she had worn from his words melted away and back into that awed, melancholy smile.

“I guess the bombs aren’t all that bad,” she muttered.


	4. Makorra: Ocean

The height of the summer solstice made Mako do things he usually wouldn’t. The sun was too high burning over head, hot and unrelenting during a week-long heat wave. It made him tap his fingers against the dinner table and jiggle his foot every time he sat down.

When Korra had suggested they go for a swim to cool down, she hadn’t expected him to bolt up from his seat and agree.

“Race me to the dock?” he said, pulling his gloves off of his hands and tossing them to the floor.

“Uh…sure?”

He broke into a run, out of the house, and she could hear his feet thumping down the stone steps to the coast of the island.

She trailed behind him, interested in watching to see what this new, less-serious Mako would do. The second his foot collided with the wooden dock, echoing with hollow bangs, his hands started ripping off his shirt.

She picked up her pace after that.

Without breaking from his run, he managed to discard his scarf, coat, and white undershirt in a messy line on the dock. He slowed for a moment to hop on one foot as he pulled off each shoe, then undid the fly on his pants and practically leapt out of them. He was left in just a pair of grey underwear.

He lifted his arms and his feet pushed off from the dock, his entire body turning into one solid curve of sinewy muscle before disappearing over the edge and landing into the water with a splash.

Korra finished her run to the edge of the dock and leaned over the edge, staring down just in time to watch his hair pop up from the soft waves. He gasped and flicked his head sharply to shake the water from his face, his hair comically plastered to one side of his head. Opening his eyes, he looked up at her, and his face broke into a bright, childish grin.

“I won,” he said.

Korra blinked and swallowed, watching as the waves rolled over his bare shoulders, the rest of his body just hints of shifting lines of pale skin under the blue water of the bay.

The left corner of her mouth quirked into a smile.

“I’m not so sure about that.”


	5. Amorra: Mask

“I’m not going to talk to you until you take it off.”

His eyelids widened, disappearing behind the hooded line of the mask they peered out of. It was the first time she had managed to catch some emotion there, some kind of expression. Then again, every other time she had stared at the mask this close, she had been too concerned for her own life to care much about his humanity.

Now they sat across from each other at a table. It was in the police station, but she had been adamant about keeping handcuffs from binding his wrists.

The darkened eyes relaxed.

“I believe I’ve explained myself many times to you in person. I know you have attended several of my rallies. I am not going to indulge you further when you refuse to listen.”

Korra bit down on her tongue and let her laced together fingers set upon the table tighten. _Patience_  rang across her mind until she believed she could find it.

“Look,” she spat, her voice echoing off of the metal walls and hitting her own ears. She paused to reconsider her tone. “I’m admitting to my mistakes. I haven’t been a good Avatar, especially not to you. But  _you_  have been just as destructive as me.”

“My methods are calculated and purposeful as opposed to your brash, senseless violence.”

Korra slammed her fist on the table and glared at him, trying to find any emotion behind the mask at all. “I’m  _trying_. I’m trying to understand you and now  _you’re_  being too proud to give me a chance! I’m right here and you won’t even take the opportunity to talk like the leader you pretend to be.”

“I’m not the one pretending.”

“ _I’m_  not the one wearing a mask!”

His eyelids dropped half way over his eyes, as if unimpressed.

He didn’t say anything for the rest of their session.

When the officer came back to lock the cuffs around his wrists, she stood up from the table and pointed right at that red disk that decorated his forehead.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised, and left the cell.


	6. Tenzin: Safety

Tenzin helped his children climb onto Oogi as they prepared to leave. As always with him, he counted off each head, making sure everyone was there each step of the way. All throughout packing, to rushing off to the children’s rooms for last minute trinkets, to making sure Oogi was ready for the journey.

_One, two, three, one, two, three_

Rohan was still a part of Pema, as far as he was concerned, and he knew he didn’t have to worry about losing track of his newest child. The others were still frantically running around in all the panic, and he tried to keep himself calm for their benefit. He would not let them be scared as they had been the night Korra had been missing.

_One, Jinora, two, Ikki, three, Meelo, Jinora, Ikki, Meelo_

He rested his hand on each of his children’s heads as they lined up to climb aboard the flying bison. Another method of counting, just a habit now, contact to make sure everyone was where they needed to be.

_One, two, three_

Tenzin’s hand subconsciously fell through the air after Meelo zipped up Oogi’s side to perch atop the saddle. For once, air slipping through his fingers felt wrong.

He looked back up at his family. His wife and children peered over the edge. One, Jinora looking worried, holding onto Ikki’s shoulders. Two, Ikki with her two buns, gripping onto the lip of the saddle. Three, Meelo clinging next to Pema, just his eyes visible. His wife and now baby Rohan rounded off to the new number of five. Lin made six.

His fingers twitched with the memory of another person to count off, and he tried to shake it away. Everyone was there.

“I’ll see you soon,” Korra blurted out behind him.

He turned around and realized she was the missing child that was unaccounted for. And he would be leaving her behind to fend for herself.

Words weren’t enough. He opened his arms without a second thought and she readily accepted, pulling into a hug.

“Stay safe, Korra.”


	7. Borra: Avatar State

Bolin brought his hands to the wound in his belly. There was so much blood that it actually managed to pool in his hands. It reminded him of hot summer days when his brother and all the other urchins would release the water in the fire hydrants lining the streets, holding out his hands underneath the fast stream to cup and bring to his lips.

He didn’t really know why he was still standing, or why he didn’t feel much pain even though his skin was pale and his hands were painted red with his own blood. He just knew that Korra was in far worse pain twisted in the air above him, and watching it hurt more than any injury he had ever gained.

She lifted both her arms and slammed two slabs of rock onto at least five Equalists.

Korra wouldn’t kill people.

Bolin looked around and saw that he was the only one still standing. He had no idea where Mako was, and all of the police officers they had ended up working with were either carted away or subdued against the magnetic mechatanks. No one was going to bail him out of this.

“ _Korra!_ ” he tried shouting, tensing his stomach muscles at the force of his words, and more blood gushed and slipped through his fingers.

He watched her send a wave of water up underneath an Equalist, flinging them into the side of a building, their body slapping the ground with a loud pop.  _His_  Korra would never  _kill_ —

The body twitched once and did not move again.

He managed to claw his way forward through the winds and dust. Her entire body was tensed as she worked, palms extended and fingers curled tightly in like they were the paws of some great beast, and not the young girl he knew her to be. She roared once and flicked out her leg, tossing another wave of water at a mechatank and freezing it into place.

It wasn’t her voice.

His hands left the wound in his stomach and reached up, the warm, wet blood sliding down his forearms as he grabbed for her leg. His hands managed to find the soft, thick fabric of her pants instead, tugging on them until she looked into his eyes. They weren’t youthful and blue. They weren’t  _hers_.

But she started settling to the ground, and as her body slipped downward, he kept reaching his arms up to her waist, her wrists, her shoulders, until finally she touched the earth again and he could wrap his arms around her weakened body. She leaned against him with her face pressed into his neck, his bloody, sticky hands fisted into the back of her torn shirt. She was covered in his blood and she didn’t seem to care.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

He held on tighter and was just amazed he was strong enough to keep her standing.


	8. Makorra: Fizzle

At the end of the revolution, the streets of the city were blocked with the debris from bombed buildings, and hazards lined the sidewalks. Through it all, most people picked right back up where the bombs had left off, reopening shops and trying to start up business again. There was this odd feeling of celebration permeating through the air despite all of the destruction lying at everyone’s feet.

Mako especially felt it. There were many reason to be celebrating, and Korra’s victory was chief among them.

He held onto her wrist tightly as they scaled the fallen remains of the building that blocked off an alleyway he was intent on cutting through. She had never seen him skid, lose balance, and trip up over his feet in eagerness before.

“Will you slow down?” she barked as he jumped off of the pile and to the ground, dragging her after him. “And where are we going?”

“We’re getting some provisions,” he said, just as he had countless times before when she asked.

She groaned and let him lead her to the opening of the alley. They stood in a thin, tightly packed street that was less damaged than the others. Row upon row of ratty street carts, vendors offering trinkets, food, and entertainment among them, lined the streets instead of the debris. Each one glowed with bright paper lanterns against the darkened blue of night, as if returning the city to its former glory.

Mako made a beeline for one specific cart that only hung a single lantern, barely visible among the rest of the splendor.

“One of everything,” he demanded, fist going into his pocket and coming out with crumpled yuans.

Korra watched as the vendor plucked Mako’s purchases into a small, canvas bag. “ _Fireworks_ _?_ ” she asked.

Mako lifted his head and nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Aren’t these illegal?”

He took the bag from the vendor with a smile before looking down at it, opening the top as if to survey his new bounty. He reached inside and shuffled around the paper covered explosives, some bundled together in rows, others just bright cylinders with a single, long fuse. His eyes lit up when he found just what he was looking for, and he pulled out a simple, silvery stick.

“Here, hold this,” he said.

She took a step back. “Why?”

“Just take it.”

After she had one end secured in her hand, she realized most of the stick was coated in some gritty material. Before she had the time to ask what it was, Mako pinched the end between his fingers and it sparked to life.

It glowed hot, white-orange, fizzling and tossing out bright embers from the center, but it was solarge and unexpected that she stumbled backwards.

Mako laughed and pulled out a long line of red fireworks, all twisted together like a line of pork ribs, dangling from one long fuse. Before he lit those ones, he looked up at her with a boyish smile.

“When these ones go off, we have to run.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer. He sparked the end of the fuse and lobbed them into the middle of the street, and quickly his hand was at her wrist again to tug her down another alley way, her eyes trained on the potential burning on the pavement.

They exploded with color and loud bangs, making everyone stop and stare, a few kids hollering with delight at the harmless explosions of celebration. They were welcomed against the violence of Amon’s bombs that had dropped days earlier.

Korra looked up at Mako, his hand flexing around her wrist, and managed to match his giddy expression at the sight of people lining up to buy more fireworks to release into the streets.


	9. Bumi: Mimicry

“The  _sword_ _,_ ” Bumi muttered to himself as he lifted a stick over his head, arm tensed and stretched straight into the air. “Is an  _extension_  of your arm.”

He stuck his tongue between his teeth and slid forward across the ground, his bare feet dragging against the dirt that decorated the training platform. His sparring partner for the time being was the skyline of the city. It shone brightly against the sun, partially blinding him, but he persevered. The great warriors of the Southern Water Tribe did not let a bit of sun distract them from the enemy.

His arm fell forward in a sharp arc to mimic the waterbending forms he had seen his mother teach his older sister, but he threw in a mangled yell for flare.

The tip of the stick pointed out at the city, but just as he drew his arm back to thrust forward, his father’s form appeared at the top of the staircase to block his opponent.

“Bumi?” his father said, glider in hand as he stayed still under his son’s intense gaze. “What are you doing?”

“I’m about to deliver the final blow, Dad!”

His father frowned and raised an eyebrow. Bumi took the moment to mimic his mother’s bending again to glide his body forward, shift his shoulders, and twist the stick out towards his father and aiming for his gut.

His father hated violence, but he managed to make him smile.

“Have you been sitting in on your sister’s lessons?” he asked, stepping forward.  
Bumi pouted and dropped his stance, letting the stick dangle by his sides. “ _No_ ,” he lied. “I was _sword fighting_ , like Uncle Sokka.”

“Are you sure?” his father teased.

At this, Bumi stomped his foot on the ground and glared. “Maybe if Uncle Sokka gave me sword fighting lessons, I wouldn’t have to pretend to be like you and Mom!”

He hadn’t expected to see his father’s smile disappear at his words, and he started to regret his words instantly. His father didn’t approve of violence, he didn’t like most weaponry, and Bumi contemplated snapping the stick in half as his apology.

“I’ll talk to Uncle Sokka tomorrow,” his father said.

Bumi lifted his head in surprise, and was met with the sight of his father happy again. Before he had the chance to ask whether or not he was being serious, his father lifted his glider and clasped both hands around one end. This time, the greatest bender in the world was mimicking his nonbending brother-in-law with a poorly executed sword fighting stance.

“As for today, you’ll just have to sword fight with me.”

Bumi grinned and copied his father’s pose, tensing all the wrong muscles and holding the stick at an awkward angle, but that would be corrected in time.


	10. BrOTP: Dumplings

Bolin’s favorite dumplings came from the street cart that sat on the corner of a tailor’s shop in the financial district. A short woman with a rounded figure and bright face that would always call Makohandsome manned the cart, face seemingly stuck on that tight lipped smile that nearly made her eyes disappear as her domed eyelids and lifted cheeks met. She would lift the wooden lid of the cooker, hiding behind a cloud of steam, and then her arm would suddenly extend through the white screen with a paper bag stuffed with dumplings. The bottom would be nearly clear with grease by the time Mako would get home.

He had no idea what they were filled with, nor bothered to ask. He knew his brother loved them, and seeing as they hadn’t yet been the death of either of them, he decided not to press for answers. He knew that the wrapping was thick and doughy, a pale taupe that implied heavy amounts of rice flour, with a shiny layer of steam and fat rounding them off.

Mako’s favorite dumplings weren’t as easy to get.

When they had finally found a real place to live and settled in the attic of the pro-bending arena, Mako indulged himself. He worked extra shifts at the power plant in order to fund his hobby, and once he had enough money saved, he took to the streets of the Republic City market and sought out the right ingredients to recreate his mother’s pork dumplings.

Miraculously, he stumbled upon a near-perfect replication on his fifth try.

Whenever Mako needed it, especially around the anniversaries he and his brother missed out on due to their parents’ passing, he would come home with bags laced up his arms with ingredients. Bolin would drop whatever plans he had made and set to helping his older brother assemble the dumplings on a tarp-covered trunk on the floor.

The dough had to be stretched as thin as it could get, cut into rounds with the lip of a glass. Mako would hold the pork belly above the meat grinder as Bolin enthusiastically turned the handle, Pabu sniffing it and getting in the way as it plopped into the only bowl they owned. They took turns mixing the filling with their hands, raw meat squishing as they tossed in green onions, grated ginger, and white pepper. They would kill an hour waiting for the broth to turn to jelly in the icebox before tossing it in with the filling. Finally, they would sit in relative silence as they twisted the doughy skin around the filling, lining them up in the bamboo steamer that cost three weeks worth of Mako’s paycheck from the power plant.

They would cook and come out glistening at the seams with beads of golden broth, smelling like home.

Without fail Mako would end up parroting his mother as Bolin would grow impatient, and stuff a burning dumpling into his mouth.

“Wait for them to  _cool_ , Bo.”

But his patience was usually cut thin as well. He would end up eating the dumplings too early, letting the burning broth that filled them scorch his mouth as he bit down, but he couldn’t help it. Sometimes he expected his mother to appear and scold him for not listening to her advice. His mother’s cooking brought him back to the short childhood he remembered. It was a luxury.


	11. Makorra: Infants

“Mako! Perfect,” Pema said, coming at him with her youngest child swathed in thick blankets in her arms. “Hold him for me, will you? I have to help Ikki with her hair.”

“Wait, I -”

“Thanks! Such a helpful young man,” she said, patting him on the cheek, and when she turned away Mako looked down at his arms to find a  _baby_  there.

He had a vague idea of what raising children was like. He had taken care of Bolin since he was eight, but at the time, Bolin was six. He was able to communicate and walk; both were a little shaky, but Mako was always patient to decode his babble and able to catch him before he fell.

Infants, on the other hand, were terrifying.

Rohan uncurled his fist from under his blankets, reaching up to scratch at his eyes in his sleep.

As Mako watched, the idea that the baby in his hands was so young, so weak, that he couldn’t yet hold his head up on his own ran across his mind. Panic settled into his stomach and Mako shifted to raise his elbow, and Rohan’s head lifted slightly. Rohan’s fingers caught against the soft slope of the bridge of his nose before his hand slid back down to curl his fingers against his chin.

“It’s like you don’t even have any  _bones_ ,” Mako muttered.

Someone cleared their voice in response, and Mako lifted his head to find a pair of Acolytes were nearby that had caught him talking to a baby. He looked away and walked down the pathway he had been on when Pema found him, to make his way to the family’s housing.

It had been two days since the family had been cleared to return to the city, and the routine of the days on Air Temple Island quickly started falling back into place. It was different now with the inclusion of the new family member Mako currently held in his arms, but Rohan managed to fill the gap the losses the revolution had brought. He was a blessing and a distraction.

“People nearly died for you and you don’t even know it,” Mako said as he stepped into what looked like a living room, and settled in on the couch there. It was easier to prop up Rohan’s head with the armrest and pillows from his seat. It was comfortable, like it was the safest place for the youngest airbender in the world to be, held in the arms of an orphan that had only the faintest ideas of what a parent was.

Mako had given some thought to having children. It was always the same: he wouldn’t have them unless he had created a life for himself that guaranteed safety. For years he doubted that goal was reachable. He had seen the way fate struck down despite how strong his father was, despite how swift his mother was, despite all of the infallibility he had placed in both his parents until the night he was forced into adulthood.

Then again.

He had just managed to make it out of a war with his friends and Bolin alive.

“Hey.”

Mako lifted his head and saw Korra passing by, panting slightly and wearing her airbending robes. She smiled.

“You don’t have to keep staring at him; he’s not going anywhere.”

He smiled back and decided to take her words as a promise.


	12. Makorra: Dancing

“ _That_ ,” Korra stated with her eyes locked on the dancefloor. She lifted her hand and unabashedly pointed at the couple that had caught her attention. “I want to dance like  _that_.”

Mako brought her hand down and glanced around the darkened club to make sure no one saw, or heard her outburst.

The couple that stood out on the dancefloor were not exactly  _dancing_ , in Mako’s opinion. At least, if the woman’s dress slid down any lower from her breasts or the man undid one more button on his shirt, it certainly wouldn’t classify as dancing. What was unfolding before them reminded him too much of the extremely detailed stories the men at the power plant would swap after seeing a racy movie.

He was not about to let himself or Korra become one of those stories.

He ended the conversation before it began by replying, “I can’t dance. Sorry. Let’s get a drink.”

Korra looked disappointed for a moment before nodding, and took him by the wrist to the other end of the club.

But she dragged him past the bar to the back door, shoving him out into the alleyway behind the nightclub.

“What are you doing?” he barked as she leaned against the door to keep it open.

No, not lean, he realized. She pressed her side against the door, making the curve of her hip pop out where she placed her hand, as if prompting his eyes to trail upward along the slope of her body.

The bright smile on her face erased any kind of threat that he might be in deeper water than usual. Korra wasn’t some kind of vamp from the movies; she was  _Korra_ , eager and willing to try every new thing, and drag him along with her.

“If you don’t want to dance in the club,” she said, pushing off from the door and bending the stone steps under it to create a stopper. “We’ll dance out here.”

As she walked over to him, hips swaying with the tempo of the brassy music that filtered out of the opened door, he realized that he had an extremely attractive girlfriend that wanted to dance with him in a back alley at two in the morning.

Something in his gut, or maybe a bit lower, told him that he should just go with it.

She placed his hands at her waist and looped her arms around his neck instantly, her fingers that ghosted across his skin leaving a burning trail in their wake that crawled to his face to mark his embarrassment.

“I-I don’t think this is the right start,” he said.

She snorted and swayed from side to side before stepping back, pulling them in a slow circle. “Like I know what I’m doing.”

It was clear that what they were doing constituted as less than dancing as what was going on inside the club. The people inside were connected with their hands, swinging apart in time to the music before pressing their bodies together; Mako didn’t know when it happened, but his hips started constantly bumping into Korra’s. There was no indication that it was purposeful or even following the beat.

“Is it dancing you want to do, or something else?” he asked.

Her grin was wolfish.


	13. Friendship: Shopping

Korra wanted a dress. She wanted Asami to help her with that goal, because the last time Korra attempted modern femininity, she was left choking on a cloud of powder in the Sato’s bathroom.

“We’ll go in, get the dress, and get out. And then we head to Narook’s for lunch. Deal?”

The older girl glanced at Korra before returning her attention to the rear view mirror in the car, where she glided a tube of lipstick over her bottom lip.

“We’re shopping,” Asami said, sliding the cover on the lipstick and tossing it into her purse. “Not coming up with strategies for battle. Calm down.”

Half an hour later, Korra was standing in the cramped space of a dressing room, watching as another silky dress was tossed over the door for her to try on. She groaned and looked at herself in the mirror, not exactly liking what she saw.

“You’ll have to show me sooner or later!” Asami said from the other side of the door.

“I  _hate_  this,” Korra grumbled.

The dress she currently wore had cap sleeves that were tight around the rounded muscles of her shoulders, and it had one of those modern ‘drop waists.’ It was baggy at the middle and a ribbon of dark indigo ran along the middle of her hips, but Korra couldn’t force the fabric to fall free there, as it bunched against her backside. She looked like she was wearing a sack.

Asami’s knuckles impatiently rapped against the door. “Just show me! You don’t have to buy it.”

With a sigh, Korra pulled open the door and didn’t even try to fix her posture or knock her ankles together. Asami instantly frowned and Korra crossed her arms over her stomach protectively, glaring at the ground.

“This is stupid. I’ve never looked uglier.”

“First,” Asami stated, stepping forward and grabbing one of the dresses from the stack tossed over the door. “That dress is stupid. Second, you’re not ugly. The dress is. Try this.”

Korra took the latest dress and disappeared into the changing room again in a huff.

“Well?”

This was better.

It was sleeveless. Korra liked her arms and did not like having them covered, seeing as it restricted movement. The sash on this dress could be wrapped around her waist in any style she chose, and the hemline fell just under her knees. It was a deep blue and the neckline was decorated with swirling, beaded designs that reminded her of her usual, traditional clothing.

She stepped out of the dressing room and looked at herself in the larger mirrors there, Asami complimenting her as she glided by.

“I think we’re done,” Korra said as she swiveled her hips, watching the skirt of the dress flare up slightly and ripple like water.

“Great. Now, let’s have some fun.”

Asami suddenly rushed back to the changing room Korra had been using and locked herself inside. Panicked, Korra ran after her and started banging on the door.

“What are you doing?” Korra hissed.

Asami stood on the tips of her toes to look over the top of the door, just her bright eyes visible. “Let’s swap clothes and confuse the cashier.”

“They won’t fit!”

“So? It’ll be fun.”

Before Korra would protest again, Asami’s cropped black jacket was tossed in her face.

Asami’s clothing was a bit difficult to squeeze into. It was a struggle pulling the waist of her pants over Korra’s rounded hips, and she gave up completely on buttoning the jacket over her chest. The sleeves ended at her knuckles and her pants bunched where Korra had shoved on the older girl’s boots. Korra’s clothing was practically swimming on Asami, the blue shirt baggy and her large boots making her usually effortless gait turn into a swagger.

Korra hadn’t expected the cashier’s reaction to be as funny as it was. She puckered her lips to keep from laughing, but one glance to her right where she met Asami’s eyes undid it all.

They stumbled out of the store in stitches, clutching onto their purchases and loudly proclaiming they had to keep doing this, laughing harder at the thought of the boys’ reactions and planning to keep up their game for the rest of the day.


	14. Bolin: Sick

He noticed that Pabu was dragging his paws across the ground half way through Mako and Korra’s reconnaissance mission.

“Hey there, little guy,” Bolin said, reaching down from the crate he used as a seat to scoop the ferret up from under his chest. “Having trouble adjusting to the old grub?”

Pabu squeaked and fell limp against Bolin’s lap, partially resting on his side in the valley where Bolin’s thighs met. He rubbed his head against the fabric of his master’s pants before licking it once, and his ears relaxed to fan down against his head.

Bolin pressed his fingers gingerly against Pabu’s ribcage, feeling the steady, thumping beat of his heart race against his thin skin and soft fur. He noticed the long red body rise and fall quickly, and when he ran his palm against the ferret’s back, he swore more fur clung to his sweaty palms more than normal.

The second Mako returned and ripped the Equalist mask from his face, Bolin shoved the weakened Pabu before his older brother, hysterically blurting, “Pabu isn’t sick, right, Mako? He’s just not used to eating dumpster food again. He can’t be sick.”

His older brother grimaced and lifted the pet from Bolin’s hands. Pabu didn’t wiggle in annoyance at being held, and complied as Mako lifted his chest to his ear to listen to his heart. He flicked Pabu’s ears, pulled back the lids of his eyes, and opened his mouth all during the clinical examination.

Bolin knew his brother wasn’t a vet. He knew there wasn’t much Mako could do to help Pabu. But it was reassuring to pretend.

“I don’t know, Bo,” Mako said, handing Pabu back. “We’ll see how he does tomorrow, alright?”

Bolin could only nod.

He held Pabu for the rest of the day. He monitored every twitch of his wet nose, every chitter and squeak, and sifted for better food among the piles the homeless had offered up to them.

Bolin had dealt with loss many times before. The first time members of his family were unfairly taken away, it was like the fast rip of a bandage jerked from his skin. He hadn’t seen his parents’ death; he’d heard about it from his sobbing brother and saw his parents recreated into two mounds of ashes, poured into modest urns. He still grappled with the idea that they were truly  _gone_ , that one day he might walk down the street and catch his mother and father among the crowds, and rush up to slip his hands into theirs like he had done countless times before.

This was slow and he would bare witness.

He doubted anybody surrounding him knew he was awake when everyone tried for sleep. He laid on his back so Pabu could settle on his chest, watching each hurried rise and fall of his back and counting them. Mako pressed his back against Bolin’s side, the same way they used to sleep on cardboard mats and under tattered canvas tarps. He pretended to be asleep when Korra stood and left the room, doing the same as Mako followed after her minutes later. Asami tossed and turned, struggling to find comfort on the hard ground. Each time someone shifted Bolin would be forced to shut his eyes to feign sleep, silently cursing himself and whoever was awake as he missed each breath Pabu struggled to suck down to his lungs.

Bolin opened his eyes and resumed counting. He guessed this was what it felt like to be an older brother.


	15. Bosami: Light

When Asami opened her eyes and found herself in the hospital, she didn’t jolt awake and fling herself from the bed, intent on hunting down her friends to make sure they were safe.

She rolled her head to the right, squinting as the world around her drew into focus. A man she didn’t know laid on the bed across from her, eyes shut and sleeping on his back as she had been. A tall window that nearly reached the high cathedral ceiling divided the wall between them, the long, white curtain that hung before it billowing with the breeze. Warm sea air drifted along with the golden noon light that streamed in, reflecting off of the high shine of the police officer’s uniform that sat on the chair by the man’s bedside. It drifted in and out of focus from the curtain.

To her left she was relieved to find Bolin.

Just as with the officer to her right, a window divided the wall between them, the white curtain softly shifting with the breeze like a sail. He had his thin bed sheet drifting off to his waist, a bandage wrapped around his shoulder and disappearing down the length of his torso. She could see purple discoloration under his puffy eyes.

He tipped his head and met her gaze. He smiled.

“Good afternoon,” he said quietly.

She licked her lips and found the lipstick she had worn before she ended up in the hospital was gone. “Good afternoon,” she repeated. “Is everyone…?”

“What?”

She cleared her throat and spoke louder, “Is everyone alright?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Korra’s actually walking and…”

His words were quiet and mumbled together due to their distance. Neither wanted to raise their voices in the quiet hospital wing where most of the patients were still sleeping.

“What?” she hissed.

He stopped talking and frowned in frustration. Suddenly, he lifted his arms, wincing, and jerked his right fist forward and left shoulder down into the mattress.

The floor beneath him lifted into a ramp, sliding his bed down it until it forcefully collided into Asami’s bed. Hers skidded to a slight angle, but the edges of their beds were touching. With the movement Asami managed to finally notice the pain in her right hand and left forearm, but decided to not question it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he relaxed, tipping his head to the side to speak once more.

His bed fell in the lemony patch of light the window created. The shadow of the curtain shifted over his body like a delicate caress, smoothing over the rounded lines of his shoulders and rise and fall of his chest. Up close she could see all the mottled purples, reds, and yellows that bloomed from the bridge of his nose and puffed out under his eyes. Dried blood still clung to his upper lip and under his chin, flaking away like puzzle pieces to reveal his still youthful skin. His hair was half caked with blood and sweat, stringy clumps falling against his forehead though it tried to maintain his usual, pushed back style.

“Everyone’s ok?” she whispered.

He nodded. “Everyone’s ok.”

“Good.”

“You have some lipstick,” he said, gesturing to his own face, just under the dip of his bottom lip.

She figured her hand and arm were both broken, so she didn’t try to lift them to clear it away. “You have some blood,” she countered.

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile, his left eye shutting at the movement like a wink. Flakes of blood drifted to his pillow. “Hey, I’m a war hero now. At least let me look like one.”

She didn’t even have to correct him. His smile pulled wider during his paused and he stared at the smudge of lipstick she could now feel on her skin.

“Nevermind. You’re a war hero too,” he said, and reached across the line between their beds to expose his palm to her expectantly. “We’ll look like hell together.”

She didn’t think as she gingerly shifted her broken arm to lift her hand into the patch of brilliant light, placing it on top of Bolin’s. The bruises on his knuckles and the cuts on the skin of her hand were erased with the sun, as it turned their skin to soft butter and lemon candies, all promises of youth and easy summer days.

With a sigh she shut her eyes and decided to think about what it might mean tomorrow.


	16. Tahnorra: Victory

He was in the wine cellar of a bar when the first bombs hit.

Wine cellar was pushing it. While the walls and all the allotted slots were filled with darkened green bottles, most of them dusty, but half of them were empty and the other half were filled with illegal moonshine. Not that Tahno really minded; he was always happy to find the drink of his people in dark corners when he cared to look, especially at such a low price. Which was to say, free.

He had been slouching against one of the racks, bottle in hand as he struggled to uncork it, when a low rumble made him pause. The sound grew until vibrations followed after it, disrupting the silver dust that lay on the bottles, swirling into the air. It was delicate until the force of an explosion up above made him lose his balance and stumble to the ground, a few bottles knocked from their slots and shattering, spilling clear liquor into the dirt floor.

He assumed a Satomobile had driven into the front of the bar. It had happened before. Figuring all the commotion above would distract anybody from his presence, Tahno stood and made his way up the staircase to the trapdoor with his pilfered bottle in hand.

When his head popped out of the floor he found that there wasn’t a bar left to walk into.

His footsteps sounded hollow and loud as he walked out of the cellar, eyes trained on the brown hand that popped out from under the rubble where the bar had been. It belonged to the old bastard that had owned the place, hands knobbled with thick blue veins, liver spots dotted in his skin.

Before he had the time to make his way to the street proper, another explosion resounded off down the street, shaking him from the hand to stare at the sky.

The blood red underbelly of the airship looked far too much like the worn pad of a thumb raised to crush against his forehead.

A quiet part of Tahno’s mind that he had been listening to more and more told him to stay put, fight with the cork on his bottle some more, and drink until the airships went away. It wasn’t like he could solve any problems now that he was useless.

But a far louder voice told him to  _run_ , and he did, out into the street and following the red in the sky, and only until he had ran three blocks did he realize why he was doing it.

The Avatar would be going after those ships.

He would see her. Eyes sparked with anticipation for a fight and maybe he wanted to see if she would catch his eye in the crowds while it happened, while she took down Amon because what little faith Tahno had left he gave to her. He imagined her waving fingers egging on her opponent, calling out taunts and bragging, and maybe if he was lucky she’d toss him a smile before the confetti rained down and the crowd went wild for her victory.

It was a ridiculous thought.

He kept running.


	17. Bosami: Roses

She loved this.

She loved walking into her apartment during her lunch break to find Bolin still tangled in the sheets at noon, his pale back slowly rising and falling, his face shoved into the pillows. He had the habit of waking up shortly after she had left for work, drag himself into the shower, and pull himself back to bed still wet. His black hair was a mess.

She loved pulling off her clothes and slipping into bed with him, waking him up with gentle trails of kisses on his shoulders. He would move his head to the side to look at her through his long, dark lashes, smiling.

“I bought you roses,” he would always say, gesturing to the bedside table.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that her favorite flowers were single orchids in simple terra cotta pots. She just smiled back and cupped his face in her hands to press a lazy kiss to his lips.

She loved the way he could make her laugh in the middle of sex, how the entire act for him was to satisfy her, and that included smiles and giggles at inappropriate moments. If the windows were open on a hot summer day, he would be  _loud_ , making sure the people on the street down below knew exactly what they were doing. That alone could make her face turn red and tears slip from her eyes as she laughed while his mouth kissed her hipbone.

When they were exhausted, sheets shoved to the end of the bed due to the heat ebbing off of their bodies and the warm breezes drifting in through the window, she would always say that she never wanted to leave the bed.

He reached across her to the large vase of red roses - he told her he liked pink roses, but for her, he always bought red - and tugged one free. Sometimes he would grab a handful, trim the long stems, and weave them into her hair.

“For a cop, you’re really into styling my hair,” she would tease.

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m thinking about starting a second career as a hair stylist.”

Today, he pulled the one rose, and started gently plucking the petals free. Each one was carefully placed on her skin, his tongue tucked against his upper lip as the tell tale sign of his concentration. She laughed and disrupted the ones on her stomach when he placed a petal on each of her nipples, and he would scold her.

“ _Shh_ , Asami, you’re messing it up,” he said, and just because he knew it would make her laugh again, he ticklishly ran his thumb along the under curve of her breast.

“No!” he said, watching as the carefully arranged petals jittered off her body with her giggles. “Asami, what am I going to do with you?”

She loved her head digging into the crevasse between two pillows, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair, looking up at his smile. He had aged enough by now for his cheeks to be less round, his dimples growing longer, and she was sure he would just get more handsome as time went on just to spite her.

“Convince me to skip work for the rest of the day,” she said.

He laughed airily, as if he had been trying to scoff at her words. “You’re already convinced. I mean, look at me.”

Before she could tease him with her own response, his hands were at her waist to pull her closer, burying his face into her neck with an overly dramatic roar. She fell into a fit of laughter and latched her fingers into his still damp hair, sure that she was never going to let go.


	18. Makorra: Up All Night

Korra slapped her hand over Mako’s mouth, the pair of them frozen in their panic. Wide eyed they stared, watching the gap under the door - a shadow moved across the halo of light that spread to the floor, standing still for a moment where they could make out a pair of legs. She was suresomebody had heard them, and if it were her father or mother or Tenzin she would die -

The light flicked off and the soft pads of footsteps quickly disappeared down the hall.

The breath of Mako’s laughter hit her hand and she instantly pulled away, curling her fingers to point at him and pout.

“I said, we have to be  _quiet_ ,” she whispered.

He rolled his eyes and settled into the bed on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I am being quiet.”

“Are not,” she shoved the heel of her palm into his shoulder.

“We’re not starting that.”

“Starting what?”

“I said we’re not starting that.”

“Fine,” she said, and she rolled onto her stomach. She grabbed the pillow that had been under her head and crossed her arms beneath it, turning her head to the side before resting it so she could still see him. “So, what were you saying?”

The light smile he had on his face disappeared, replaced with a bit of nervousness as he looked at her from the corner of his eye. With his head back against the thin pillow, she could watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly, licking his chapped lips.

“I was just thinking,” he started, then paused. When no reaction from her came beyond her expectant expression, he sighed and pushed forward. “We don’t really know a lot about each other.”

Irrational panic settled in quickly, spiking her heart to beat painfully against her chest. He had just told her he loved her that day, he didn’t seem intent on taking it back, if not only because he had come to her room in the middle of the night with the excuse that he couldn’t sleep. He wanted to see her, stammered to ask if he could crawl into the bed, and shakily gave into the kiss she initiated once he settled among the blankets.

“I know you,” she said. She was sure of it.

He nodded. “Yeah, and I know you, but…” He trailed off, and squinted at the ceiling in the dark. His head tipped to the side to meet her gaze. “I’ve been arrested four times.”

Her mouth instantly dropped open to shout, but she remembered a similar confession at the park, and she clamped her teeth down onto her lips to keep from insulting him. He was worried again, eyes wide and full of fear, almost as terrified as he had been under Amon’s bloodbending.

She slowly nodded. “Ok. Alright.”

“It was for minor stuff,” he said quickly. “I never did - well, once I had to hurt someone, but, Bolin was sick. He was really sick and I had no other options.”

“I understand. I’m not mad.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be mad,” he said, looking away. “It’s just - I didn’t want you to find out from someone else.”

Korra nodded. He seemed intent on keeping his eyes trained away from her face, regret and guilt marking his features. She extended her hands through the blankets, bumping them into his arm until she followed down, fingers sliding over his bony wrist to clasp at his hand. He shut his eyes at her touch.

“What else do you want me to know?”

They stayed up late into the night, him whispering stories from his childhood to her in the dark, slowly sifting through the past until he reached the age of eighteen, when he met her.

It was dawn. Someone padded down the hall and they were both too tired to care.

He yawned. “And now you know it all.”


	19. Makorra: Together

Mako was blindly shoveling his food into his mouth at the dining room table on Air Temple Island, a newspaper spread out before him with a pen in one hand. The other constantly dipped into a bowl he had grabbed once Pema set down breakfast, scattering bits of food onto the table, his scarf, the paper.   
  
He was only shaken from his thoughts when a warm hand slapped against his head, fingers raking through his hair lazily.  
  
“Good morning,” Korra said, plopping down beside him.

  
She was the last person at the table. Asami had already left to get to the city, where she had legal issues with her father’s company to sort. Bolin had taken the kids outside, which just left him, Tenzin, and Pema holding baby Rohan.   
  
It was the first day in the week since that had returned home where Korra wasn’t immediately needed in the city. She would go to City Hall later in the day and continue restoring the bending of those Amon had  _cleansed_ , but it for now, she was free to eat messily and let her hair slip out of her ties.   
  
She pressed against his side to peer down at the newspaper. She squinted with her mouth full of food.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asked.  
  
He paused, mouth open to accept more food. It slipped between his chopsticks and landed on the table, where he picked it up with his fingers and tossed into his mouth.  
  
“Looking for apartments,” he said. “I think, what with all the jobs opening in the city, I can get two and make enough to pay for one for Bolin, and one for me and you.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Yeah, here, look,” he said, pushing his food aside and flipping open the paper. It revealed the opposite page, at least twenty ads circled in tornadoes of black pen scribbles. “Some are right beside each other and for a really good price. The best is near Dragon Flats, but it’s safe. Trust me.”  
  
“I -,” Korra’s voice caught in her throat and she lifted her eyes to meet Tenzin’s. She couldn’t mark his expression with one word, but she knew it wasn’t positive. “Can we talk about this?”  
  
Mako frowned. “I already talked to Butakka. A welding job is mine to fix the arena.”  
  
“You don’t have to get a job,” she said. “We can stay on the Island for free. All four of us.”  
  
“Four?” he repeated. “Asami already signed the lease for an apartment in the Financial District.”  
  
“She never told me about it -”  
  
“- You don’t want to move in together?”  
  
He was hurt. It was a different kind of hurt than she was used to dealing with him, when he would lash out with snide remarks and sarcasm, pointing fingers and raising his voice. She did the same, which was what made it so easy to deal with.  
  
This, on the other hand, was a more sensitive subject.  
  
“It’s not that I don’t want to, I - we’re teenagers.”  
  
His glanced nervously at Pema and Tenzin before ducking his head, lowering his voice. “I’ve been on my own for years, Korra.”  
  
“I know, and now you don’t have to be.”  
  
“I’m still getting two jobs,” he said.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
He winced when his declaration didn’t sway her or egg her on. “Will you at least consider it?”  
  
She pointedly avoided Tenzin’s eyes, which she was sure were drilling into the top of her head, when she nodded.  
  
“Before you have to be at City Hall, we can check out the place in Dragon Flats.”  
  
They moved in a week later.


	20. Makorra: Cooking

Mako liked to cook.  
  
Korra loved to eat.  
  
It worked out nicely that way for a while, especially when they returned to Republic City to start rebuilding. Mako would go with her and somehow find the time in between his work to slip down to the market, stuff a small bag full of meats, and cart it back to the Island. It was contraband there, practically a sin to even touch the flesh of an animal slain for food. Korra soothed over his initial worries that Tenzin would toss him from the Island by explaining that Avatar Aang’s wife was Water Tribe.  
  
“So?”

  
Korra snorted. “There’s no way Katara was married to Aang for more than forty years and never brought tigerseal meat to the Island. Relax.”  
  
After everyone had gone to sleep, he’d shake her roughly awake. They would travel down to the beach and Mako would simply skewer the meat on sticks, apply the flames in his palm to the food, and Korra would watch as it slowly cooked. Kicking back in the sand, they would eat and dip their feet in the water. It was the closest thing to a dinner date they had together.  
  
Then his mother’s birthday rolled around, and Mako had to make her dumplings recipe.  
  
“We can’t do it in the house,” Korra frowned.  
  
Mako sighed and nodded, rubbing his hand at the back of his neck. The ingredients he had bought were laced up his arms in bags, knocking against his side. “I know. But I have to make them.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Tradition,” he said. “Bolin’s been looking forward to this for since we got back in time for it. And he’s already upset because he can’t help me make them, because he took that job at the construction site.”  
  
“Alright, I think I have an idea.”  
  
She managed to bend them a table, which she washed clean, and stuck in the middle of the gazebo that looked over the south side of the city. It was the night before his mother’s birthday, and he brought all the ingredients with him, laying them out in the perfect order for when they were needed. She had never seen the beginnings of such an intricate process before - even smoking seal jerky or fish was simple in comparison.  
  
He had been thrilled with the idea that she could help with her bending. He talked about it nonstop beforehand, how she could chill the broth to turn it to jelly, create steam to cook the dumplings in.   
  
Then they started, and he quickly lost his temper, as did she.  
  
“You told me to cool it, and I did!”  
  
“You froze it! It’s supposed to be like jelly, and now it’s ruined.”  
  
“I did what you said! Besides, I can turn it back!”  
  
“No, it’s too cold now, what if something went wrong -”  
  
“- It’s just some dumb soup, I don’t even know why it goes into the dumplings anyway.”  
  
“It’s not dumb,” he shouted, forgetting the stillness of the night. “It’s important, and it’s not even perfect anyway, they taste only half as good as hers and if one thing goes wrong, Bolin will know and -”  
  
He had never been so open about his parents before. Not in specifics, anyway. He especially had never shown how he had to behave as a mother and father and brother to Bolin until then, getting worked up over a bowl of frozen broth in the middle of the night, hands fisted and flexing at his sides.   
  
Korra waved her hand quickly and turned the frozen broth in the bowl back into a liquid. He watched it melt instantly, and along with it did his temper.  
  
She touched a hand over his shoulder and he gently leaned into it, shutting his eyes tightly.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not good at cooking.”  
  
He snorted with a short laugh and smiled before opening his eyes to look at her. His flour-covered hand closed over hers.  
  
“You’re right. You’re pretty terrible.”  
  
She punched him in the arm and the dumplings turned out fine.


	21. Makorra: Equalist Mako

“How can you support something that hurts Bolin?” Korra shrieked.  
  
Mako flinched at the volume, hearing it echo down the tunnel. Naga’s ears pricked up at the sound before settling back against her head, and he reached over to stroke the soft fur. His gloves got in the way.  
  
He tugged them off and tossed them to the ground on top of his mask.  
  
“Bolin’s different. He’s not like the rest,” he said.

  
“Oh, so it’s just everybody else is evil, and Bolin is the only exception?” Korra said, arms waving in the air as she paced before him. “Do you even listen to yourself when you talk?”  
  
“Do you even listen to anything besides your own voice?” he shot back.  
  
“What else have you lied to me about?” she said, rounding on him and pointing. “How much does Bolin know?”  
  
He leaned back into Naga’s side and looked away. “Bolin doesn’t know anything.”  
  
When Korra tossed her arms up into the air in anger, chunks of rock cut free from the street to follow the movement. They didn’t travel far, nor did she turn to hit him. They settled onto the ground as she continued pacing, as if she hadn’t noticed that she started bending without realizing it, and Mako knew that was her problem. She was so dangerous by just existing.  
  
“How, though?” she finally said, turning, her voice lower. “How are you one of them? You’re a firebender.”  
  
“Not for long.”  
  
Her eyes widened. “What?”  
  
“The Revelation,” he said. “Amon can take a person’s bending away. For good.”  
  
Her legs shook, arms dropping to her sides, and Mako wondered if she was going to collapse. He had never seen someone look so scared before, except for Amon’s demonstration of his talents that he gave to the Equalist troops two nights ago. The earthbender whom he cleansed sobbed hysterically on the dirt floor of the underground bunker from when they brought him in, to when he was taken out.  
  
Fear didn’t suit her. He felt guilt for one quick moment before realizing she would just have to get used to it.  
  
“That’s not possible,” she said.  
  
He shook his head. “No. I’ve seen it. You’ll see it at the rally soon.”  
  
“You’ll take me?” she asked, and when he nodded, her eyes narrowed into a sharp glare. “How can I trust you to not swap me for Bolin?”  
  
The idea hadn’t crossed Mako’s mind. It was a good one, surprisingly, and maybe if he hadn’t already gotten in too deep with the Avatar, he could have pulled it off. But he knew there was no way he could save Bolin and keep his job without her help.  
  
“You can’t trust me,” he admitted. “Just like I can’t trust you.”  
  
She frowned. “You trust me.”  
  
“What? No I do—”  
  
“- You let the Avatar join your pro-bending team to pay the bills on your apartment. You let me help you look for Bolin, and you’re still asking for my help, even though I know about,” she waved her hand up and down. “ _This_. You trust me a lot more than I trust you.”  
  
“It’s not trust,” he said. “It’s working with the circumstances life has handed me to try and give my little brother a better life.”  
  
“And where do the Equalists fall into your life, huh?” she said, crossing her arms over her stomach. “How does that give Bolin a better life?”  
  
He could feel fire start to spark in his closed fists, a feeling that made his stomach flip with nausea, and he would not let her be the kindling to turn him into a monster again. He wasn’t about to bend without his knowledge and consent, especially out of anger.  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, dropping his fists and flexing his hands by his side. “You don’t know anything about Amon, or me, or Bolin -”  
  
“- Then tell me,” she said.  
  
He tensed and looked up at her. Fire still burned behind her eyes and the road was torn beneath her feet, still dangerous as ever, but she was giving him a chance to talk. She was willing to listen.  
  
He sighed in defeat and sat down against Naga, crossing his legs and arms, tipping his head back to stare at the domed ceiling of the tunnel.  
  
“What happened to your parents?”  
  
He shut his eyes. He heard her walk across the distance between them and settle into the space at his side, leaning against Naga.  
  
“They were mugged. By a firebender. He cut them down right in front of me. I was eight.”  
  
His hand was already reaching to his neck before remembering the scarf was bundled beneath the dark red collar of his uniform. His fingers fumbled under the collar, tugging some of the fabric free to press to his nose and mouth.  
  
“Mako,” Korra muttered, and he wasn’t the enemy anymore, he was maybe her friend, the one she thought she had before she saw the mask stuffed between the couch cushions in the attic.   
  
He didn’t like how her sympathy made him feel. He had the habit of pushing away pity, but her calm voice implied that she understood now. Maybe she even hated him less.   
  
What she thought shouldn’t matter, but it did.  
  
“Bolin’s the only family I have left,” Mako said. “If anything happened to him…”  
  
He saw her hand at the corner of his eye, the same one she had used to slap a megaphone from a nonbender’s hand, the one that he had seen shoot flames at chi-blockers without care. It was violent and held three disgusting elements instead of one.  
  
But it was warm, like his.  
  
He leaned into it subconsciously and mentally kicked himself when he realized it. He didn’t pull away.  
  
“I don’t agree with you,” she said. “But I’ll help you find Bolin.”  
  
She wasn’t flames or jagged rocks or ice. She was fluid and relaxed like water, and he had never seen the element in her like this before.  
  
He swallowed thickly and nodded before looking away, having done enough staring for one night. He was afraid he was starting to like what he saw.


	22. Makorra: Dew

He heard the soft pads of her feet walking down the hall, rousing him from his sleep. Lifting his head and squinting through his tired eyes, he watched as the glow of firelight traveled across the paper walls of his room on Air Temple Island. Korra’s silhouette was fuzzy, but he knew it was her, regardless of the flame in her hand.

The bed creaked loudly when he shoved himself up, standing to stretch and crack his spine as he walked to to the door with every intention to follow after her. The sounds of his waking made her pause in the hall, back arched like a frightened owlcat, flames small to throw less light.

He slid open the door and leaned against the frame. He was too tired.

“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice raspy with sleep. Hearing it just made him want to crawl back into bed more, so he dragged his hand up to dig into his eye, tugging at the skin of his face to ward off sleep.

She spun around and shrugged. “It’s too hot in my room. I’m sleeping outside.”

He sighed heavily and without another word, slipped back into his room. Tugging his scarf out from under his pillow, he draped it around his neck, and stepped out into the hall.

She looked at him confused, and he just nodded his head towards the end of the hallway.

“Let’s go,” he said.

She smiled and held out her hand to him as she turned to lead the way. His fingers gently laced with hers and he allowed her to drag him out of the house, and down to the grassy lawns.

The grass was cool under his bare feet, a strange sensation he only ever had the luxury of feeling in the park as a child. He was accustomed to gritty asphalt mixed with cigarette butts and miniscule shards of glass that would get embedded into his skin. Not soft dirt and scratchy grass, riddled with bugs and always left him feeling slightly damp after sitting on it for too long.

Korra found them a rounded stretch of lawn and settled down far away from any dangerous cliffsides and rocks. He followed after her, not bothering with any conversation. He laid down and rolled over onto his side, tucking his hands beneath his head, and quickly shutting his eyes with every intention of getting to sleep.

He heard her let out an annoyed sigh before her arms wrapped around his waist, shifting higher so her chin could rest atop his head. It was usually his job to do this, but he was far too tired to care.

  
—

  
Waking up with the sun was never Mako’s idea of pleasant since leaving the streets. If it could be helped, he preferred to sleep to a normal hour, not dawn. It reminded him too much of the paranoia of being found in whatever shelter he and Bolin had managed to find, having to shake Bolin awake and start moving as quickly as possible unless they were found.

Korra’s arm was digging into his back when he woke up. He usually slept curled in on himself, gravitating towards whatever warmth was available, but Korra stretched out and slept on her back.

Her eyes were already fluttering open when he rolled over, back stiff, a twig digging into his hip, and feeling cold and damp.

“Why am I wet?” she groaned.

He pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder to block out the rising sun. “Morning dew.”

“Dew?”

“Mhmm,” he nodded, pressing his throat against her skin, having them both feel the vibrations of his voice. “Water from the air. It collects on the ground.”

Her fingertips touched his temple gently, feeling the thin layer of water there. As he slowly woke up, he realized he was far more wet than he had ever wished to be, especially this early in the morning.  _This_  was why he never slept in the park.

Her fingers left his skin, but something still moved down the side of his face. He realized it was the droplets of water that had collected there under her hands. Cracking one eye open, he saw just her hand above him, fingers gently spread to control the dew as it dipped near the corner of his eye. It traced over the curve of his cheekbone, down to edge his jaw, before falling against his neck to rest there.

He hated sleeping outside. Hated watching the sunrise and the kick of paranoia flare in his chest. Hated his stiff back and locked knees, the dew that soaked his clothing and skin.

Korra rolled over and wrapped her arms around him again, tucking his face into her neck. He hated it less.


	23. Makorra: Fun

He fell onto his back, panting, staring up at the early evening sky overhead. He had taken off his shirt long ago, once Korra decided to switch from airbending to firebending during their sparring match. The sweat that layered his back picked up the grit of the airbending platform they fought on, and he was uncomfortably hot, trying to draw in gasps of humid summer air to regulate his breathing.

The sound of Korra’s heavy breathing mingled with his, but it wasn’t as desperate.

“Are you,” she started, words caught as she tried to breath. “Are you losing on purpose?”

Of course she would heckle him while winded.  _Of course_.

He ignored the bait for another argument, favoring breathing instead.

“Something on your mind?”

He shrugged, watching his chest rise fully as he sucked in a large sigh, expelling it for one long moment and having to pick up panting again.

His mind was preoccupied. He had been mulling the same thoughts over all week. He had been dating Korra for three months, and he realized that they had never gone on a date.

“Did I break you or something?”

She walked over to him, bending over his line of sight and blocking out the sky. The short hairs that pulled free from her ties were sticking to her face with sweat, skin flushed and eyes bright. His breathing started to even out and he smiled.

“Do you want to go on a date?” he asked.

She pulled her head back and glanced away. “Um. Why?”

“That’s what couples do.”

The corners of her mouth pulled down in a pronounced frown, right before she moved to sit beside him. Sitting cross legged, she was still able to lean over him, staring at his face intently.

“Where would we go?” she asked.

He shrugged, as if he hadn’t given it extensive thought already.

“Dinner and a movie is always nice,” he said.

Dinner at a semi-nice restaurant, because Korra wouldn’t want to get too dressed up. That small theater down near the docks, because it had big fans in the back that kept the room cool. They would see something fun, because she wouldn’t want to sit through a romance, but it would have to have action to keep them both interested. They could walk down to the water afterwards, because who wouldn’t find a nighttime walk by the bay romantic?

Korra tilted her head to the side and a drop of sweat rolled down her chin and onto his arm. “Do we have the money for that?”

He nodded instantly even as his mind started to race with the question - he hated personal questions like this, about money and provisions and basic things everyone had that he still worried over. He shoved the thoughts away because there was no need for it.

“Yeah. I can pay for it all.”

Her lips puckered as she thought, lifting her head up to look out at Yue Bay. From where he lay, he could see her short eyelashes catch the light like a halo around her eye, chin jutted out and jaw tensing as she chewed on her tongue. He thought about reaching up and feeling the ends of her hair, maybe even convince her to take her hair ties out, seeing as they were slipping free anyway. He held back in order to let her mull it over.

“Nah,” she said, shaking her head. She looked down at him and stood. “It’d be a waste of money when we can just have fun here.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. She held out her hand to him, and he took it to help himself stand.

She shrugged. “Unless you really want to. I mean, I kind of just like sparring.” Her lips spread into a wide grin as she looked at his back, and started brushing away the dirt that clung to his skin. “Unless this is just some strategy to keep from losing to me all the time.”

He snorted, enjoying the way she started to roughly trail her palms down his back. “I don’t need to cheat like that to win a fight, Korra.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, and - he should’ve  _known_  she would do it - she smacked her hand over his asshard and started walking away when he jerked around. “ _Prove it_.”


	24. Borra: Drowning

He doesn’t even have to open his eyes - he’s not too sure if he could, anyway - to tell what the dull thumps and muffled shouts are. Since his eardrums popped with that last explosion, everything sounds as if his head is underwater. Once, as kids, he and Mako went swimming in the harbor, even though now he knows they used it for a bath, and for fun he tried to talk underwater. He and his brother would submerge at the same time, one of them would shout a word, and the other would try to figure it out.  
  
It’s an apt analogy, he thinks. His hair is plastered to his head and wet, but with blood and sweat rather than salty ocean water. His entire body is wet in most places, again with the sweat and most of his own blood, and he can’t stop shaking. He wonders that if Mako were there to see him now, he would say he swam too long - he’s shivering and his lips are probably purple with cold.

  
It’s only when Naga appears, cold wet nose bumping against his arm, that he realizes he’s been drifting off into the fictional waters of Yue Bay in his mind. The whines Naga emits are just audible, and they tug at his heart. He hates seeing anyone upset, especially animals. He lifts his hand blindly and his palm manages to smack against her muzzle, and because it’s him Naga doesn’t mind. He rubs the soft velvet above her nose and he tries to talk, but even he can tell the words spill from his mouth like childish babble. Naga seems to like it, though, because the next thing he knows, her face is digging into his side. When she flips him over onto his back, he remembers his injuries.  
  
“ _Ah_ , Naga,” he says, wincing as Naga tries to lift his body onto her head. The words don’t feel as if they’re coming from his mouth. “Slow down, just let me…let me rest for a bit.”  
  
He doesn’t have anything else to do. He did his job, his duty, and for the first time it didn’t go very well. He took the mission to dismantle spare Equalist mechatanks all on his own. No one is around to see him no save for a polar bear dog, and no one was around to save him this time. He should’ve known better. When he’s alone, he has terrible luck.  
  
It was supposed to be easy and simple. The war’s been over for three days and now they’re going through the city bit by bit, taking away Amon’s fingerprints. Korra works through glowing eyes and thumbs to the forehead and breastplate, and now Bolin through bending and, he thinks regretfully, violence.  
  
Naga is persistent. She manages to leverage her head under his body and lift him until he’s resting his weight on his knees, which hurts and shoots daggers of pain up to his thighs. Bolin starts to slip off of her and return to the calm of lying on the floor, but Naga starts whining again. He hates it, hates the way he knows he’s making someone feel terrible on his behalf. Even if it’s just Naga.  
  
“What do you want, girl?” he mutters, more tired than concerned.  
  
With a few jerks of her head and more muffled whines, he realizes she wants him to ride her. As much as he doesn’t want to move, he can’t listen to her pain anymore. He manages to shuffle across her side and pull himself up despite the break he knows he has in his forearm, and the odd grinding his right shoulder emits every time he moves it.   
  
Her saddle manags to fit the length of his body, arms and legs dangling over the side, but it was just as comfy as the floor had been. His mind seems to shut off the second he is situated and Naga starts walking, and it feels like he is drifting out of the warehouse on a cloud. He shuts his eyes just as they trot past a pile of mechtanks, one with an equalist body spilling out of the hatch, bloody and lifeless.  
  
He’d done his job. Now he just wants to sink to the bottom of the ocean and lie there.

—-  
  
When he wakes up, he’s cold again. He’s shivering and his body should ache, but instead he feels like he’s floating. Not in a weightless sense, but again, like he’s submerged in water and he’s letting his body slack and drift. Arms and legs extended with a cool weight pressing in all around him, shifting with the currents and not knowing where his body ends and the water begins.   
  
But he’s breathing. The soft rustle of blankets comes from his left ear, and he’s not sure if it really is blankets, or if his ears are still broken. He’s not underwater even though he feels like it, and it takes a lot of courage for him to open his eyes, bracing himself for the sting of salt water but it never comes.  
  
He does see blue.   
  
Blue eyes a more pure shade than the slightly polluted waters of Yue Bay. Teeth popping out from behind her lips, white and blinding, like the sun reflecting off the surface of the bay. And there is salt water, he realizes, slipping from her eyes and down her face even though she’s smiling, but she’s always been full of contradictions, so he’s not about to question it now.  
  
“How are you?” she says, voice clear.  
  
He smiles. “Good. How are you?”  
  
She chokes on a forced laugh, and he’s heartbroken as he watches her face twist up, leaning her elbows on his mattress to bury her face in her hands. He’s never seen her cry, not really, but it’s more terrible than Naga’s whines because he doesn’t really know what’s wrong. All he wants is to slip back into the ocean and settle on the floor, because he’s always been far too solid to be very good at swimming. He’s tired of treading water and all he wants is to give into his nature and sink.  
  
But he also doesn’t want to leave Korra.  
  
He wonders if the two wants are mutually exclusive, given his nature, given hers.  
  
“You were gone for so long,” she says, shoulders jerking and tears sliding down the insides of her wrists. “We - I missed you so much.”  
  
“I’m back,” he says.  
  
She lifts up her face and stares at him wide eyed.  
  
It goes unspoken that he’s there to stay. It’s in his nature to not so much be rooted, but immovable, even when drowning feels more appealing than living right now.  
  
She slowly smiles, and it’s weak, but it’s something. Her hand clasps over his, and suddenly he’s made aware of his broken fingers, bloody and bruised knuckles, but he doesn’t mind because her palm is cool and rough. She leans forward and when she goes to kiss his forehead, her hair spills from her shoulders, enclosing him in a world that exists only of  _Korra_  - deep blues and browns and the smell of the ocean, cool and refreshing and dark when he needs it the most.  
  
He shuts his eyes and keeps breathing.


End file.
